So You Think You've Found a Keeper
by MysticScribe
Summary: Follow up on Glory’s not so excellent adventures. Too bad for you if you wished she had been committed for life. Summary: Glory O’Fe D’Day uses blackmail to get another chance at finding a keeper.
1. Professor Steak

"**So You Think You've Got Yourself a Keeper"**

_**Type**: Blatant parody_

_**Rating**: T, not-so-subtle allusions to sexual content_

_**Summary**: An over-the top Mary Sue tries to get her lovely and smooth hands on Snape. A mysterious book brings her back to reality and Harry Potter's world gets away from it all, relatively unscathed. The key word is relatively._

_**Notes**: Of course, I'm not claiming JKR's characters or the world she has created. I have nothing against creating characters – I'm guilty of it myself – but I wanted to work the clichés and to show how sometimes we, with the best of intentions, manage to butcher JKR's characters – I'm guilty of that too. Snape is a victim here – my sincerest apologies to his fans - but please remember that one sees the world as one wants to see it, and that glorious Mary Sue is happily oblivious to sanity. Thanks to Snitch for having unwillingly triggered the idea of the character – the elf thing ; )_

_---_

Glory O' Fe D' Day opened the door: readers could peek at her lavishly decorated room. Her lively eyes wandered around, looking for that _mysterious_ person who had _mysteriously_ knocked on her door and had left on her doorstep this _mysterious_ package.

She bowed forward with the grace that could only be acquired by fifteen years of devoted training to an impossible-to-learn wizarding martial art, taught by a Gobbledegook-speaking master in downtown London.

The young not-a-princess-yet- but-will-learn-the-dazzling-truth-in-chapter-six she-elf closed the door and she dreamily recalled her first meeting with her new coworkers. Glory had a charming way of frowning: she did just that when she realized that the average age of those teachers was antediluvian. She delicately swore with a whimsical expression punctuated with a witty exclamation mark («By the Golden Elbows of the Sweet Goddess! »).

That night, she slowly understood that not only was she the youngest teacher in that room but also the loveliest of them all; therefore, she would unequivocally become their object of attraction. For that matter, she had been particularly active at avoiding the roving hands of one of those female witches, specifically that pipe smoking hefty one.

_Nevertheless_, her almond-shaped eyes had instantly spotted in the mob the One that made her heart beat faster, as he was hiding behind that mop of hair. She believed, in what she thought a brilliant psychological insight, that he was afraid of her, of her beauty, of her purity.

She saw him as a great occasion to prove herself as a worthy Pygmalion with the heart of a pure Gryssondor, the kindness of a jolly good Hufflecuff, the implacable logic of a mastermind Ravenplaw and the powerful sex appeal of a vicious Slythebin. Of course, she would indulge into her inner minx by neatly polishing that diamond in the rough.

Glory had walked towards him, utterly splendid in her embroidered robes.

The young lady felt a tingle in her chest as she held the _mysterious_ package close to her heart. Was that what they called love at first sight? Or maybe was that the symptom of the terrible disease that was about to sweep the wizarding world and about which she was the only one to know what deceptively simple potion to brew, to know about the Cure?

Glory pondered that her devoted readers would certainly like to know more about the Cure and she thought it would be preferable to tell them about it twenty-five chapters before the end of the story, therefore killing any chances of suspense but sparing important characters such as herself.

She gladly announced on the first page of her existence from the top of her cherubic voice, "The Cure is Love, of course. _My_ Love. "

She opened the package without looking at it; in her mind, she could detail with luxurious details the man's appealing features she had only seen once in a badly lit room.

Black eyes, long greasy black hair, hooked nose, sallow skin, scrawny limbs, severely out-of-fashion black robes. She could not forget that she felt in him the potential of a deep and burning sensuality that he was hiding well and that he knew nothing about. Glory shook her head with a knowing smile. In fact, he was hiding his animality so well she predicted she would have to roll up her sleeves on the smooth skin of her forearms. Then, she would have to grab a shovel and dig a hole in his office to get to it.

She could not help it. Perfect. He was perfect. The kind of man her dreams were made of.

When she floated to him, her heart was pounding and she turned into putty in his hands when she asked him with a wicked-but-coy smile, «Professor Snake?»

The man thankfully answered and charisma oozed from his voice, «It's Snape.»

She had purred back, «I'm sorry, Professor Spate.»

She interpreted his wince for what it _really_ was: an expression of his timidity. She quivered with emotion when she fondly remembered the way his uneven yellowish teeth reflected the candlelight, « It's _Snape_.»

But that darn Professor Skate was playing hard to get: she knew it the second she had set foot in the professors' lounge, before she had talked to him. Even before she had seen him.

She just knew it.

She had been so excited to be hired at Hogmarts by Headmaster Doublebore, because _of course_, teaching was so much fun; she had been doing it since she was fifteen. She has taught complicated magic in a very distant land that nobody had ever heard about. This mysterious land was really impressive on a resume because of its inhabitants' advanced knowledge of magic. Glory also enjoyed the fact that the young men to whom she taught blushed each time she spoke to them and how the girls wished to be her.

It made her feel special. But she was _not_.

No, really. She shrugged and flashed to the readers her blinding white teeth.

Now, there was the possibility of creating the purest of love with the darkest of man, using a heap of not-so-subtle sexual allusions to get there.

She shivered with excitement as she found a great title for her life. The Devil and the Dark Angel Who Would be Saved by Love and a Good Snog and/or Shag. She had yet to decide on a rating.

She was the Devil of course, but it seemed that nobody knew about her troubled past.

_Nobody_ knew how falling angels abandoned her at age 1 – she could not remember them and nobody ever told her about it and it complicated a bit the storyline – and how a horde of elves raised her after she was reduced to eat roots in a forest inhabited by more bloodthirsty savage beasts that trees (she _did_ remember the unbearable pain).

_Nobody_ knew how she tried to make her way into the world (at age 2, mind you) by mastering only four different languages but _not the one those elves understood_, making communication sadly impossible and suffering beyond belief from it. That would explain her perseverance and her elegantly pointed ears, thus leaving a huge gap on how genetic features could be passed by mere contact.

Oh, I'm certainly the Devil, as she thought of herself with a giddy chuckle.

Maybe if she said it a couple of times, it would sink in her readers' mind. Devil. Devil. Devil.

A puzzled expression could be read on her gorgeous features when she saw what was in that _mysterious_ package she had opened. A small blue book was on her lap and the title glittered in golden letters, "**_So You Think You've Got Yourself a Keeper_** ".

The young ravishing beauty began to read:

"_You've been hired at Hogwarts. You have met the teachers and your eyes have fell on that tortured Potions Master of ours, leading you to believe he's the man for you. "_

Glory smiled with excitement. Professor Steak was _tortured_. She liked that. She continued her reading, biting her perfectly pink lips:

"_The main thing is, he's not for you. He's not the man for anybody else for that matter. The only woman he may/may not have wanted had been dead for several years now. He dislikes her son because he looks like her husband – he hated her husband. He does not overtly like anybody but (maybe) an old, gentle, knowledgeable and powerful wizard with a fondness for candies and/or (maybe) a savage, vengeful, megalomaniac and powerful Dark Wizard with sadistic tendencies. Got it?"_

Glory scratched her button nose with one perfectly manicured nail. That woman was dead?

Good.

She had him all to herself.

Perhaps, if Professor Scrape were to be solely attracted to powerful wizards, he would be served with her. He had not seen yet the incredible gift that was given to her during an M rated sexual ritualistic ceremony involving her brother-in-blood Legolas.

Nor he knew of her capacity of sucking the brains out of dark wizards by a complicated swirl of her hair. _That_ would impress him without a doubt.

"_Here are troubling facts about Severus Snape that should scream to any vaguely coherent witch, "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT". We expect you to be one, being a professor and all that."_

His first name was Severable. That sounded like music to her pointy ears. She pouted and pursued her reading.

"_Uno. He has a Dark Mark on his left arm, as a result of him fraternizing with the wrong people."_

He had a tattoo! Glory was overjoyed and she slicked a wisp of blond hair behind her ear. Then, shamelessly stealing the magical power of another character of the story, she metamorphosed her hair into the deepest shade of purple to match her eyes.

"_Deux. He blabbed about a prophecy to the sadistic Dark Wizard. The woman he may/may not have fancied and the man he hated got killed as a result. Their scarred son is now persecuted by loads of people – primarily by the sadistic Dark Wizard and the object of your fancy holds an head-scratching ambivalent attitude towards the boy AND the sadistic Dark Wizard.»_

Glory was starting to feel slightly nauseous. There were a lot of details she wanted to know about Sternus; perhaps his favourite colour, if he had a happy childhood, if he liked kids and cats. That book was throwing at her so many non-important details she was not sure she could remember them.

The most obvious question was certainly this one: was the boy with the scar the fruit of his sins committed with the dead woman?

"_Drei. Here are a few answers to your questions. Black. No. Over your dead body. Forget it. Good question, but sanity owled and it said it's a definitive no. "_

Glory thumbed through the small book and she heaved a deep sigh.

She had to read all this to understand Professor Strap? She was a DADA teacher in a fanfiction, by the Golden Elbows of the Sweet Goddess!

She was supposed to mingle with him during the meals. Then, they would engage into snappy dialogue with a lot of sexually charged silences. She expected to show a little skin around chapter eleven. She had not decided yet if he would walk on her in the shower in her glorious nakedness or he would walk on her while she was inappropriately changing in a classroom.

She was pretty sure Professor Dumblecore said she was not expected to _teach_: she believed her part was limited to walk in the corridors wearing gorgeous clothes that showed her perfect figure. Of course, her mission was also to seduce that volcanic Potions Master.

Chapter seventeen was definitely the Scene where they would go all the way on his desk while hormone-driven teenagers would spy by the peephole and transform him into the most unlikely stud Mockwarts had ever encountered, stunning its staff _and_ the enamoured readers.

If she followed the logic of that mysterious book, she would have to follow certain rules. She hated rules. She wanted things her way. Her beautiful face started to drop and her brain made a squeaking sound as she acknowledged the awful truth: she had to understand him for the man he really was.

_That thought was suddenly unbearable to the would-be-elf-princess-with-incredible-powers. Her credibility was destroyed in Chapter 2, when Harry Potter had to take over the class so they would learn something this year already. Our heroine proved incapable of teaching and answering Snape with a sentence that did not contain the words «me», «you»,«tantrism» and «oh!»._

_Glory O' Fe D' Day asked the author for a lengthy sojourn at the Proud Mary Sue Hospital for Inadequate and Ridiculously Gorgeous Characters to reconsider her options._

_I'm sorry to announce that this promising fanfiction is over._

_The End._

* * *

_So, funny or not funny? ; )_


	2. Long but not Useless Interlude

_Author's notes: All my apologies to JKR for what I am about to write. Some of the readers wanted a follow-up on Glory's not so excellent adventures. Too bad for you if you wished she had been committed for life._

_Summary: _

_Glory O'Fe D'Day uses blackmail to get another chance at finding a keeper._

* * *

**Long but not useless interlude that will help you understand the madness coming your way in the next chapter **

"_Aloha_!"

A young woman lifted her eyes from the - _cough _- serious book she was reading and apprehensively looked at the door. She then heard something that sounded like a curse word, then a brief silence and finally, a firm but delicate "_knock knock"_.

She sighed, as she understood who was the intruder. "First of all, it's _Alohomora_. Secondly, you could repeat that incantation until your tongue falls off. This is the real world so it won't work. What do you want, Glory?"

An irritated cherubic voice answered her, "Open this darn door, MysticScribe! I need to talk to you."

The aforementioned MysticScribe whispered to herself with a wince, "Why did they let her go? I thought I got her committed forever."

The young woman reluctantly lifted herself from the couch and opened the door to the infamous Glory O'Fe D'Day, the Unforgettable-Woman-Who-Had-Attempted-to-Seduce-Snape-But-Had-Failed-Miserably, in all of her radiant beauty.

"By the _bleepin'_ Golden Elbows of the Sweet Goddess," MysticScribe muttered under her breath as the ravishing young woman entered her living room with her (stunning) head held high.

The young elfish princess threw her cloak on the couch with a grand gesture, brandishing a few pieces of computer printed paper in her silky hand. "_The readers _thought I was _funny_, you know? In English _and_ French! They thought _I_ had a future. They wanted me to go at him and charm his robes off! Why did you do this to me?"

The other woman crossed her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. The pretty young thing was on a roll, " Do you know how _terrible_ that hospital was? I was the only _sane_ character there, with all those characters that could not even remember their _past_. And all those drafts of OC characters you have created… _brrr_, verrrrry frightening," she shivered, her delicate shoulders undulating like a trembling wave.

MysticScribe lifted an eyebrow and pensively remarked, "You're starting to sound Fleur Delacour-ish, and that was certainly not my purpose. And what may be the problem today?"

Glory O'Fe D'Day pointed a carefully groomed finger at her creator. " That man, this _Snack_, was a nasty, nasty man. I really did think we had a good thing going on: we had so much in common. A terrible past, mysteries surrounding us…everyone could see we were made for each other in the first paragraph."

MysticScribe snickered, "Everyone but the poor man. Pity."

Glory scratched one pointy ear with clear disgust, "Well, I read the book you threw at me and I realized, _like_, he's a murderer, isn't he? I want you to write me a relationship with a _good_ one, you know. A chivalrous one, with whom it may be easier to bound with. "

She stopped speaking and a maniacal glimpse loomed in her purple eyes as she handed a magazine to the other woman. "I want someone simpler. This one."

MysticScribe was dazed as she incredulously studied the picture. She coughed, "You want…_Daniel Radcliffe_?"

Glory O'Fe D'Day loudly sighed, visibly thinking that the other one was a certified idiot, "_No_, PatheticScribe. I'm talking about Darcy Potter."

MysticScribe opened her mouth and took a beat: it would not be easy to sort this one out. How could she find the words that may reach Glory's small but cute brain? "Sweetheart, this is not _Harry_ Potter. This is an actor playing a _version_ of Harry Potter."

The young beauty threw her hands in the air, "_Whatever_. Actor, character, it's all the same to me. Teenage boys are way much simpler to deal with than horrible dark men."

MysticScribe erupted into laughter, obviously thinking that Glory was throwing a joke at her, but when she faced the scrunched expression of the character, she understood she had created a humourless monster.

The fanfic writer shook her head, "No way. I'm not pairing an elf princess with an underage boy. Perhaps you did not understand a thing about those books: Harry Potter _is_ the epitome of the troubled hero. There is nothing simple about him. He lost his parents, his father figures died one after the other, and now he has only his friendships to support him and tons of Horcruxes to destroy. I wouldn't dream _inflicting_ you upon him, from all things. He has his plate full with Voldemort. And Ginny Weasley. "

Glory pursed her lips in a malicious expression, "_Tipitome_? Don't use fancy words with me, missy. You seem to be forgetting that 125 elf years is equivalent to 16 in the wizarding world. Alas, I don't believe you have the choice."

The challenging Mary Sue had a smug look on her face. After a painful silence, MysticScribe frowned, "Maybe I'm mistaking here, but you seem to be threatening me."

Glories purred back, looking at her nails, "Well, don't forget I'm a vicious Slythebin, _darling_. I'm sure your readers would love to hear about your crush on Snarlie Weasley, do they? That piece of smut you produced a few days ago was an _homage_, wasn't it?"

As MysticScribe blushed in embarrassment, Glory laughed, " He's written in the books, like, _five_ times. You're such a _looser_. Did you have a problem with the pretty one? What's his name...Will? Now, that's a stud."

"Enough," snapped MysticScribe as she pushed the obnoxious character out of her living room.

Before shutting the door, she grumbled to the triumphant princess, "_Charlie's_ a dragon tamer. And a bloody good one too."

* * *

_Glory will attempt to conquer Harry in the next chapter._

_The previously mentioned piece of smut is Archive no.11 of my fic "Hogwarts' Unofficial Archives"._

_To be (painfully) continued…_


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